


Fear of Being Apart

by silentid



Series: Psychotic Trio [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Incest, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentid/pseuds/silentid
Summary: Stanford's research gets a new direction and Fiddleford and Stanley are left with the consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright here we go, this isn't technically for Stancest Week but I figured it was as good a time as any to get the ball rolling. So for the end of a really fun week here's the first chapter of the Psychotic Trio sequel.

Stan’s car rattled along the dark road. Stan sat up front humming along to the radio, the only thing visible outside the car was the small swath the headlights illuminated. Not that Fiddleford could see much from his seat in the back with the groceries. Initially he had been a bit upset that Stan still didn’t trust him enough to sit up front. The twins were concerned he might try to interfere with Stan’s driving, but he wasn’t going to pass up the chance of getting out of the house, even if he had to be disguised. 

Fiddleford scratched at the short beard he had grown. He had been nervous that the beard wouldn’t be good enough, there were still posters reporting him missing on occasion, but the townspeople hadn’t been suspicious at all, just excited to meet Stan’s new friend. 

“What the shit,” Stan yelped. The car brakes squealed as he brought the car to a screeching halt. 

Fiddleford leaned over the front seat to see why Stan had stopped. Hanging from a tree ahead of them was a body, which just so happened to put it right above the sign indicating the turn for their driveway. The two men stared at each other.

“You don’t think Ford would do something this stupid, do you?” 

Fiddleford squirmed, he didn’t want to lie to Stan but he also didn’t want to speak badly of Ford. 

Stan shook his head at Fiddleford’s silence. “Come on, we can’t just leave it out here.” 

They hopped out of the car and made their way to the body. Upon closer inspection, they could see that it was carved up. Stan’s frustration was growing and Fiddleford could hear his teeth grinding. Luckily, the body was low enough in the tree that it was easy for Stan to reach. Ropes bound its chest to the trunk, while nails secured its feet and hands. Fiddleford and Stan wrestled with the bindings, assisted by Stan’s pocket knife. 

Finally, they had it loose and the body slumped down on top of Fiddleford. 

“You got it?” Stan asked the slighter man who was swaying under the corpse’s weight. 

“Yeah, I got it,” Fiddleford said with a grunt. 

“Great, let’s throw it in the trunk.”

Fiddleford stumbled after Stan, towards the back of the car. Stan popped the trunk and spread out a tarp he kept in his car for very similar situations. 

In the dim light from the trunk Fiddleford could see that the cuts on the corpse’s torso looked almost like symbols. He opened his mouth to point them out to Stan but the other man was already storming around to the driver’s side door. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Stan growled, as he wrenched opened the door. 

Fiddleford scrambled to slam the trunk shut and tumble back into the backseat before Stan took off. He was grateful that the rest of the drive was fairly short. Stan’s ire was palpable inside the car, filling the small space. 

They pulled up in front of the house in a spray of gravel. Fiddleford quickly got out of the car and started unloading the groceries, anything to keep Stan’s anger from turning on him. Between trips of dropping of bags on the kitchen table Fiddleford saw that Stan bring a hand truck around and unload the body onto it. 

“I don’t think this was Ford,” Fiddleford said, completely ruining his chances of not drawing Stan’s attention. 

“Yeah, and what makes you say that?” Stan said as he wheeled the body towards the house. 

“Well we don’t know this guy,” Fiddleford said as he followed Stan. “How would Ford get his hands on a body without either of us knowing?”

Stan hummed as the two men worked together to lift the hand truck over the porch stairs. “That’s a good point,” he conceded as they negotiated the door. “But what are the chances that there is another guy in these woods who cuts people up.”

Fiddleford didn’t have an answer for that. It was honestly a terrifying thought; that Stan and Ford might not be the only killers in these woods. 

Following Stan and the body through the house gave Fiddleford another chance to look at the cuts. The body was covered in them and Fiddleford was certain they were in some kind of design. He considered that another point against Ford being this man’s killer. Ford liked to take his victims apart, see how long they lasted while he gutted them or peeled them apart. Not that he didn’t occasionally get decorative, Fiddleford had the scars all over his body from Ford’s knife. Once the brothers had decided to keep him alive, Ford had switched from treating his body like an experiment to treating it like a canvas. But most of the time the bodies he helped Stan dispose of were no longer recognizable as a person. 

“Whatever the case, Ford is the most likely person to have an explanation for this,” Stan said, pushing the button for the elevator. 

They both quietly contemplated the corpse and what it might mean for their lives as the elevator descended. 

The elevator’s ding was much too loud for Fiddleford and Stan’ silence. They headed into the basement and Ford’s lab. 

“Ford,” Stan called out. He still wheeled the body with him and Fiddleford trailed after him. “Ford, where are you? We’ve got something to show you.”

“I’m in the dissection lab.” They heard Ford call from deeper in the basement.

Stan and Fiddleford passed by Ford’s desk and the empty cages, making their way deeper into the lab.

Strapped to the table in front of Ford was a woman. Fiddleford glanced at her briefly. Ford had been cutting into her legs which were a bloody mess. He didn’t like to spend too much time around or thinking about Ford’s victims. They reminded him that the only thing keeping him from a similar fate was the twins’ favor. For his part, Ford was still holding his scalpel, his gloved hands covered in blood and the white lab coat he wore was speckled with red. He was looking quizzically at Stan and Fiddleford. 

“Look what we found on our way home,” Stan said, pushing the body on the hand truck in front of them. 

Ford looked intrigued, he set his scalpel down and stripped his gloves off completely ignoring the woman. “Where did you find it?” He asked while circling the hand truck.

“On the tree, right before the driveway,” Stan said. He was watching Ford closely. “I have to ask, this wasn’t you, right?”

Ford looked up from his inspection. “How could it be?” he replied. “I’ve only had Daisy here for the last week and this body is quite fresh.”

Stan nodded, “That’s what Fidds said too. Alright well I figure you’re gonna study this thing so let me know what you find. I don’t like the thought that we might not be the only psychos in these woods.”

“Of course, Stanley,” Ford said. He was already moving the body from the hand truck to the other surgical table in the room. 

Stan shook his head fondly and turned to Fiddleford. 

“I’m gonna finish with the groceries. Make sure you’re both upstairs for dinner,” he said before heading back to the elevator. 

Fiddleford nodded and went over to Ford. As he looked over the other man’s shoulder at the body he again noticed the intricacies of the pattern of cuts.

“It kind of looks like a blueprint,” Fiddleford said quietly.

Ford looked up at him, glancing between Fiddleford and the body a couple of times.

“Hmm you might be right,” Ford said. He stepped out of his operating theater and came back dragging a chalk board. “Why don’t you clean her up. This is much more interesting than what I was doing, she can wait.”

“Yes, Ford,” Fiddleford said going over to the woman on the other table. 

She was unconscious but Fiddleford still tried to keep from staring at her too much. Ford’s other victims used to be the hardest part of his new life but now he was grateful for them. Whenever Ford had a living specimen, especially a human one, Fiddleford got off a lot easier. 

Despite his best efforts to not look he couldn’t help cataloging her new wounds. There were the normal cuts along her arms and torso, which got larger and deeper as Ford worked through his system. What was most striking though were her legs, Ford had cut them both quite deeply severing the hamstrings. This essentially prevented her from using her legs ever again. Fiddleford couldn’t ignore the pit this made in his stomach, he still feared the twins deciding to mutilate him in such a permanent fashion. It also made him a little jealous. They had been having issues with the woman, Daisy, trying to escape. Except for him, when a captive became difficult Ford usually just moved up his time table or outright killed them, at least as long as Fiddleford had been living with the twins. This was the first-time Ford had kept someone around and Fiddleford wasn’t sure what that meant for his own status. 

While these thoughts swirled through his head, Fiddleford undid the restraints securing the woman and carried her to the cage next to the one he had initially inhabited. He still considered it, and he was sure the brothers did as well, his cage. It had remained empty the whole time he had lived here. A silent reminder that despite his current freedoms there was always a place for him to go should he step out of line. 

Once Daisy was physically restrained to her cot Fiddleford pulled off the button-down he had worn to town. He exchanged it for a white lab coat leaving him wearing only his pants and the coat. Wearing clothes was still a novel experience for him, and he really preferred to wear as little as possible when he was home. The lab coat and pants were his concession for lab safety. 

Fiddleford headed back to the operating theater where Ford was pouring over the body. The chalkboard was covered in scribbles and markings. That Ford had transcribed from the body. Fiddleford took in the drawings but Ford was so absorbed that he didn’t dare interrupt him. Instead he got out some of the electronics the twins had given him to tinker with and sent on the now empty table to tinker close enough that if Ford needed him he would be on hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and are looking forward to the rest of the story. Now for some nitty gritty, unlike last time I only have about half of this already written. I do have a solid outline and direction for the rest of it. It's looking like it will come in a little shorter than the first one at nine chapters. My plan is to publish a chapter once a week on Sunday. I'll be updating the tags and details as I publish so be sure to keep an on eye on those. 
> 
> I'll also be doing some minor edits to all the pieces in the series, nothing serious mostly just grammatical fixes. I've been rereading Fear of Falling Apart in preparation for this piece and there are a few things I just can't let stand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up this chapter is more explicit than the rest of the work, it pretty much just devolves into porn around the halfway point.

When Fiddleford looked up from the nearly finished gizmo in his hand Ford was still consumed by his investigation of the body. A couple of hours had passed by Fiddleford’s estimate. Since the basement had no windows or regularly operating clocks it wasn’t always easy to tell. His promise to Stan floated through his head and he hopped off the exam table and set the gizmo down. 

“Ford,” Fiddleford said, while he stretched. He had yet to come up with a good way to interrupt his captor turned boss. Sometimes Ford’s reactions were perfectly normal and other times they were over the top and dangerous for Fiddleford. 

Ford didn’t even seem to have heard him, so Fiddleford gathered his courage and stepped closer. “Ford,” he said again, hand hovering just over Ford’s shoulder. 

Before Fiddleford had to touch him though, Ford turned around to face the slighter man. 

Fiddleford’s hand dropped along with his nerves. “Stan said we had to come up for dinner tonight.”

Ford looked ready to protest, even starting to turn back to the body and the table, but his words were cut off by his own rumbling stomach. 

“I guess a break for dinner wouldn’t be amiss,” Ford said with chagrin. “Why don’t you check on the captive and feed her while I clean up? Then we’ll go upstairs.”

Fiddleford nodded and headed over to the cages. Daisy was still unconscious so he just pulled out some of the food they kept in a fridge they had added to the lab and left it on a plate with some water for when she woke up. Ford walked up, carrying a book, as Fiddleford was letting himself out of the cage and locking up. The two men walked to the elevator in silence, while they waited they hung up their lab coats, leaving Ford in a button down and Fiddleford half-naked. 

The elevator’s door opened with a ding and they stepped inside. 

“I think you’re right about the blueprints,” Ford said.

“What do you think they’re for?”

“I’m not sure. Whatever they’re for, they aren’t complete,” Ford said, “You can take a look at them tomorrow and see if you can make heads or tails of it.” 

The elevator let them out onto the main floor. Fiddleford followed Ford towards the kitchen. The shack was filled with the smell of cooked food and Fiddleford’s stomach rumbled loudly at the smell. 

“Well I’m glad someone’s looking forward to my cooking,” Stan said. 

He walked over to Ford and Fiddleford and poked at Fiddleford’s stomach. Fiddleford blushed and swayed towards Stan.

“Other people seem to consider it a distraction.” Stan shot teasingly over his shoulder at Ford, who had taken his seat at the table.

Ford’s nose was already buried in the book he had brought from the basement. Stan snorted and turned back to Fiddleford, giving him a quick peck on the lips before guiding him to the table. 

“Your cooking is always good,” Fiddleford said.

“And yet you never seem to gain weight, Beanpole.”

Ford looked up from his book. “Must you flirt so shamelessly at the dinner table, Stanley?”

“Do you gotta read at the table, Poindexter?” Stan replied.

Stan circled the table and came up behind Ford. Reaching over his brother’s shoulder he snatched the book from Ford’s grasp, snapping it shut. Before Ford could complain about the loss of his book Stan leaned over him and kissed him. Ford reached his now free hand up and threaded his fingers through the hairs at the back of Stan’s neck. He tugged Stan closer, deepening the kiss. 

Fiddleford’s cheeks heated and he glanced down at the table, missing what Ford did next. Stan’s sharp yelp brought Fiddleford’s eyes back to the twins. 

Stan was standing upright, his book-free hand was up at his lips. When he brought his fingers away from his mouth they were tinged red with blood. 

“Looks like someone’s hungry for more than just dinner,” Stan said.

His gaze was locked with Ford’s, but Fiddleford could see that both the brothers’ eyes were dark and filled with something wild. Fiddleford hardly dared to breathe. He felt like prey watching two predators about to fight, desperately hoping they wouldn’t notice he was there too. 

A sharp buzzing broke the moment, startling all three men.

“But first there’s lasagna,” Stan said. He moved away from Ford, dropped the book on the counter, and pulled the casserole from the oven. 

Fiddleford could still feel his heart pounding against his ribs while Stan served up their dinners. But as they dug into their food and talked idly about their days, he relaxed letting the normalcy wash over him. 

Eventually all three men grew full, and the clinking of silverware on plates gave way to idle chatter. Ford ended the meal first. He stood up, grabbed his book from the counter, and headed for the living room. Stan shook his head as he also stood up. 

“I honestly have no idea how he ended up with so few manners,” Stan said, while clearing plates from the table. “Our parents always gave us an earful or more when we didn’t help clean up.”

Fiddleford hummed as he took his place at the sink to wash the dishes. Neither twin talked about their childhoods on a regular basis and he didn’t want to say anything that would stop Stan from talking. But it seemed that was all Stan was going to share on that subject. He finished stacking the dishes at Fiddleford’s elbow in silence. 

Stan tugged Fiddleford down for a quick thank you and a kiss before following Ford into the living room. Fiddleford kept his focus totally on the dishes even though the task was mindless, he didn’t want his thoughts to have a chance to stray downstairs. Living with the twins was easiest when he spent as little time as possible thinking about the other captives and bodies. 

Even with only a meals worth of dishes and Fiddleford’s full focus on them it was about twenty minutes before he made his own way to the living room. 

The sight that greeted him made it clear that the brothers hadn’t wasted their time. They were stretched out on the couch, Stan on top of his twin. Ford’s book lay forgotten on the ground next to them. They were totally absorbed in a kiss. Again, Fiddleford’s breath caught but this time he wasn’t certain whether or not he wanted them to notice him. On one hand, he didn’t want to interrupt them, on the other watching the two of them was causing an undeniable physical response. 

Thankfully the decision was taken out of his hands. Fiddleford wasn’t sure what exactly tipped the brothers off to his presence but he didn’t stand in the door for long before the twins broke their kiss. Stan gave a low groan. He looked the definition of debauched to Fiddleford. Ford was obviously effected as well, his breath coming in short pants and he didn’t take his eyes off Stan even when the younger twin turned toward Fiddleford. 

“Took you long enough,” Stan groused. He swung his leg over Ford and clambered off the couch. Fiddleford couldn’t take his eyes off Stan’s hips, the way they swayed, as he walked toward him. “Ford insisted we wait on the fun stuff ‘till you could join us.”

This last bit was said inches from Fiddleford’s face, Stan’s breath was hot on his face and smelled like lasagna. It was followed by a searing kiss. Fiddleford was certain he could feel electricity sparking over his skin everywhere Stan touched him. The feelings rushing from his lips and hips, where Stan’s large hands had settled, straight to his cock.

Suddenly, Stan was tugged away from him. Fiddleford couldn’t help himself and leaned forward, chasing Stan’s heat. A possessive growl from Ford stopped him in his tracks. 

The older brother had joined them and he was the reason Stan had broken their kiss. Ford had pulled Stan’s hand form Fiddleford’s hip, lacing their fingers and was now leading his brother towards the bedroom. 

“Yes, I did say we had to wait but now he’s here so let’s go,” Ford said, his voice deep and dark. 

Stan’s hand still on Fiddleford’s hip, was dragged along his stomach as he was tugged backward. Before he lost contact with Fiddleford Stan snagged his fingers into Fiddleford’s waist band tugging the slighter man forward and towards the bedroom as well.

The trip to the bedroom was quick, now that they all knew there they were headed, but busy. It involved the trading of heated touches and sloppy kisses. At one point Fiddleford was slammed against a wall hard enough to daze him. The love bite on his neck that Ford followed it up with was more of a bite than anything else. But the stinging pain was soothed by feather light kisses up his neck from Stan. For Fiddleford the contact was enough, he reveled in it, the exact nature of be damned. 

In the bedroom, Ford shoved Stan onto the large bed. The younger twin bounced slightly as the bed’s springs squeaked in protest. Fiddleford stood off to the side while Ford surveyed his brother. Stan was panting, his clothes were disheveled and his legs spread. He had propped himself up on his elbows so he could look up at Ford. 

“I’m assumin’ you’ve got a plan, Sixer,” Stan said.

“Of course, I do. Both of you get undressed,” Ford replied in a cutting tone, he turned slightly towards Fiddleford for the last part. 

Fiddleford didn’t waste any time, he was out of his pants and boxers as quickly as he could. He dropped them onto what was basically a dog bed that Stan had brought home when he had started sleeping upstairs regularly. 

Fiddleford’s cock was already hard but he kept his hands far from it. The twins had made it abundantly clear that his pleasure was theirs to provide or not. He shuffled over to the edge of the bed but waited for one of the brothers to invite him onto it before joining them. 

Ford had clambered onto the bed still dressed, and was straddling Stan. Fiddleford was certain that the older twin was hindering Stan’s undressing more than he was helping, but they were also obviously enjoying themselves so he wasn’t going to comment. 

“Come here, Fidds,” Ford said when Stan was finally naked.

Fiddleford scrambled up onto the bed, kneeling next to Stan’s hip. He looked at Ford for direction, taking the opportunity to drink in Ford’s intense attention. Since Ford tended to save this kind of intensity for experiments, Fiddleford was going to soak it up now when it didn’t involve him being under Ford’s knife.

“Why don’t you show, Stanley how good you’ve gotten with your mouth,” Ford said. He moved to Stan’s other side. His brown eyes were darker than usual and locked on Fiddleford. 

Fiddleford glanced briefly at Stanley, who showed no objection to the idea, before leaning down to mouth at Stan’s erection. He took his time, starting out by stroking his hands over Stan’s thighs, rubbing his beard along Stan’s skin, and pressing gentle kisses to Stan’s hip bones and hardened cock. 

While Fiddleford worked, Ford leaned over to the bedside table and rifled through the drawer. He came back with a bottle of lube and nudged Stan so that he rolled over on his side. This made Fiddleford’s job harder but he shuffled down the bed and readjusted so that he could take Stan’s cock into his mouth. Stan moaned appreciatively and buried his hand in Fiddleford’s hair. 

Fiddleford couldn’t really see what Ford was up to now but he did hear the click of the lube cap opening and could deduce that Stan’s hips stuttering forward, forcing his cock down Fiddleford’s throat, was from Ford teasing at Stan’s entrance. 

“Stan,” Ford rumbled, “you’re already loose. Were you playing with yourself today?”

Fiddleford could imagine the blush heating Stan’s cheeks when the younger twin squirmed around. 

“I may have been hoping that I could convince you to spend the evening away from your work,” Stan said. His words catching halfway through. “Ford, c’mon I need more.”

Stan’s hand in Fiddleford’s hair tightened. He winced at the pain it sent through his scalp. But it was the only warning he got before Stan’s cock slammed down his throat, which gave him something else to worry about. Fiddleford did his best to relax his throat and take Stan or rather Ford’s brutal pace. 

The room was filled with Stan’s whines, Ford’s quiet whispering, the slap of skin on skin, and Fiddleford’s own choked groans. Fiddleford clung to Stan’s thighs and waited. He was well aware that this was about Stan’s pleasure, even if his own cock was achingly hard. 

A sudden jerk on Fiddleford’s hair dragged him almost flush with Stan’s groin. He relaxed his throat but not quite in time. Stan’s cum was forced down his airway. Fiddleford’s world narrowed to his own panic. He was choking and his instincts told him to fight the hand holding him down but he knew that fighting Stan would be futile and only lead to punishment. He needed to relax and wait this out even if his body felt like that would kill him. 

Distantly he heard Ford shout as his vision narrowed. Fiddleford’s world was only his burning lungs and the painful grip in his hair, so the second Stan’s grip slackened Fiddleford moved. He pulled himself off Stan’s cock and immediately gave a chest rattling cough. His coughing fit continued until he could take short breaths without pain.

Fiddleford heard Ford say, “Stan, it seems you may have broken your toy.” Tears pricking at his eyes, Fiddleford looked up from where he was curled up on his side at Stan’s knees.

The brothers were also curled up on their sides, Ford still tucked tightly against Stan’s back. Both twins were watching Fiddleford, Ford’s head resting on Stan’s shoulder. 

“I dunno Stanford, I think he liked it,” Stan said, while reaching his hand down toward Fiddleford. Fiddleford nuzzled into Stan’s broad palm before it was scratching his head. “Right, Fidds? That was good for you, wasn’t it?”

Fiddleford shivered slightly, Stan was using a very specific tone of voice one he had learned not to say no to.

“Yes, Stan that was good,” Fiddleford said quickly, even eagerly.

At one point, he would have been sickened to hear himself appease a man he had once considered a monster but at now he would do anything if Stan kept gently combing his hair. 

“Hmm I guess you’re right,” Ford said, “looks like he even got hard from it.”

Fiddleford’s eyes drifted to his cock. Ford wasn’t entirely correct; his cock had softened while he had been coughing but Stan’s gentle touch was doing plenty to get it interested again. He whined quietly, now he was having a different problem keeping still. Fiddleford was desperate for some friction but he would be in trouble if he touched himself.

“Please,” Fiddleford said, almost to quietly for either twin to hear.

Stan’s hand paused. “What was that Fidds?”

“May I please come?”

“I’m not sure, what do you think, Ford?” Stan said even while his fingers kept toying with Fiddleford’s hair.

“Well tonight was about you, Stanley, if you think Fidds did a good enough job I say go for it.”

Stan appeared to contemplate it, smirking down at Fiddleford who couldn’t help his fidgeting.

“Alright Fidds go ahead and come.” Fiddleford’s hand was already moving for his cock. “No, up here.”

Fiddleford’s hand stopped in its track. He looked up at Stan, desperation contorting his face. Stan was full on grinning at Fiddleford’s distress but all he did was tug lightly on Fiddleford’s hair encouraging him upward. 

He rolled onto his knees and shuffled up the bed. Now he could see that Ford was still inside Stan. The older twin didn’t appear to be interested the current happenings, instead he was drawing aimless patterns on Stan’s skin. 

When Fiddleford made it to Stan’s chest, Stan reached out and tugged Fiddleford so he would turn around.

“Come on, Beanpole,” Stan said, “turn around and get in here.”

Fiddleford ended up sitting with his back to Stan’s chest, legs stretched out in front of him ankles just barely hanging off the side of the bed. Stan wrapped his arm around Fiddleford’s slim waist, his knuckles just barely brushing Fiddleford’s stiff cock. 

“Please,” Fiddleford whined again. All he got in response was Stan’s deep chuckle, vibrating against his back.

“You can’t expect me to do all the work, Fidds,” Stan said, his hand wrapping loosely around Fidds cock.

Fiddleford’s breath caught as he rocked his hips forward, the friction he had so desperately been craving sending pleasure sparking through him.

Goosebumps erupted on his back at the feeling of a light touch. It was Ford’s fingers, he was now drawing his random patterns on Fiddleford’s skin. The light touches were pushed from Fiddleford’s mind when Stan’s thumb rubbed over the head of Fiddleford’s’ cock, spreading the precum beading there onto his hand and providing some relief to the burn of direct skin on skin contact. 

Stan’s hand moved with Fiddleford’s own rhythm causing Fiddleford’s pleasure to quickly build and crest. He came with a quiet cry, vision once again narrowing but this time for much more pleasurable reason. The haze he found himself in was broken by Stan’s cum covered hand being pushed into his face. Before Stan had to say anything Fiddleford grabbed Stan’s wrist and guided Stan’s hand to his mouth. While his brain floated on the haze of his orgasm his body worked to clean Stan up.

“Look how well trained he is, Ford,” Stan said. 

Fiddleford barely registered the words except for the rumbling he could still feel from Stan’s chest against his back. 

Ford’s response was a quiet hum that turned into a scoff when Stan tugged Fiddleford onto his side. “He won’t stay trained if you keep spoiling him,” Ford said while Stan positioned Fiddleford as the littlest spoon. 

“I’m not spoiling him,” Stan complained, “Fidds knows sleeping on the bed is a treat. Don’t you, Fidds?”

Fiddleford nodded.

“Sleeping on the bed and an orgasm, that’s two treats in one night, Stanley,” Ford shot back while slipping off the bed to grab a wash cloth and turn off the light. 

“Not spoiling him,” Stanley mumbled against Fiddleford’s neck.

Ford tugged a blanket over the two of them and slipped in behind Stan. “I should have just gotten you a big stuffed animal,” Ford grumbled as he gently cleaned himself and Stan, before getting comfortable on the bed. 

“It couldn’t have washed dishes or sucked cock like Fidds can,” Stan replied.

Fiddleford felt a little bit of heat suffuse his body hearing Stan defend him.

“I guess he does have his uses,” Ford said quietly.

Fiddleford would have been positively giddy if he wasn’t right on the edge of sleep. It was nice knowing that he was useful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah here we go, just a little bit late for which I apologize for. I wish I had a better excuse but I've just been catching up on my sleep all weekend.

The next thing Fiddleford knew was the gray light of pre-dawn. He blinked once and then twice, his body completely still while he oriented himself. The heavy arm and Stan’s sawing snores made the job pretty easy. So, did Ford shuffling around the room.

Fiddleford perked up, slipping just enough from Stan’s grasp to sit up and track Ford’s movement through the room. Eventually, Ford noticed him watching. He paused his rummaging through a pile of mixed clean and dirty clothing. 

“Go back to sleep,” Ford said flatly. “I’m going to work on the new body. I won’t need your help until later.”

Fiddleford wasn’t going to argue with him, mostly because he never wanted to draw Ford’s ire but also because the bed was still warm. As Ford slipped out of the room, Fiddleford slid back under the covers and into Stan’s arms. For his part, Stan just tugged Fiddleford tight again, mumbling in his sleep.

The next time Fiddleford awoke the sun was rising and so was Stan. It was Stan’s roaming hands that had actually woken him up. They teased along his chest before settling on his hips, tugging him backwards while Stan’s hips ground forward. 

Fiddleford let out a quiet whine at the feeling of Stan’s cock rubbing against his ass. He squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled at the pillow, chasing the bliss of sleep.

Stan chuckled, “C’mon Fidds, time to wake up and get to work.”

“Yes, Stan,” Fiddleford said. A yawn cracked his jaw as he slipped under the covers and shuffled down the bed. 

The blanket cut out much of the light and it took Fiddleford’s eyes a few moments to adjust. Stan’s hands kept him moving though, a constant push and pull. His nose was filled by Stan’s musk. They were both still naked from the night before and slightly tacky with sweat.

“Right there Fidds, c’mon,” Stan said, tugging on Fiddleford’s hair.

Fiddleford nuzzled at Stan’s morning wood. He let his beard scrape across Stan’s inner thighs, and swallowed Stan’s cock. The taste and weight of it filled Fiddleford’s mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant but Fiddleford still found his mind wandering while his body went through the motions.

He had just begun to speculate on the nature of the body’s markings when Stan’s hand tightened in his hair and cum filled his mouth. Fiddleford was more prepared this time and Stan’s grip wasn’t as tight so he didn’t choke. Stan gave him a satisfied pat on the head and then slid out of bed leaving Fiddleford to untangle himself from the blanket. 

When he made it out of the bed, Fiddleford grabbed a pair of boxers and pulled them on. He could hear the shower running but even though he could use a wash he headed for the kitchen to start coffee and toast instead. The bathroom upstairs was one of those things the twins had made off limit to him. Except for special occasions, like when Stan trimmed his beard, Fiddleford still used the small shower in the basement. 

The food was just coming together when Stan joined him. He wrapped his arms around Fiddleford’s waist and buried his nose in Fiddleford’s neck. Stan was dressed for work, jeans, an old t-shirt, and a flannel shirt, but his body was still warm and his hair wet from the shower. The moment would have been textbook for domestic bliss, except that Stan was nuzzling right over the bite Ford had left last night and his fingers were tracing the scars on Fiddleford’s hips.

“Hmm smells good, Beanpole,” Stan said. His hands slid just under the waist band of Fiddleford’s boxers. “I can think of so many better things than goin’ to work today.”

Fiddleford simply hummed in response. He stepped to the side letting Stan’s weight fall from his shoulders and leaving the larger man standing in front of an un-doctored cup of coffee. Stan’s appreciation quickly shifted from Fiddleford to the coffee and he was able to put the toast and a few spreads on the table. 

Breakfast was a quick. Toast and coffee didn’t take long to eat at the best of times and Stan really did have to head off to work that morning so they made quick work of the food. A single cup of coffee and a couple of pieces of toast remained when they were done.

“Make sure he eats those,” Stan said, as he pulled on a jacket and a pair of heavy boots. His keys jingled in his pocket as he leaned over and gave Fiddleford a quick kiss. “I’ll be home tonight and make dinner, but don’t forget about lunch, okay? It’d also be nice to know somethin’ about that body.”

“Okay, Stan. See you tonight,” Fiddleford replied. He watched as Stan stomped out of the house and got in his car. 

As he collected up Ford’s breakfast and headed for the elevator Fiddleford could distantly hear Stan’s car start and peal out of the driveway. The ride in the elevator gave him just enough time for his thoughts to turn back to the mystery body. He stepped out and retrieved his labcoat before going deeper into the lab. The woman in the cage sat up as he passed by but Fiddleford paid her no mind.

“Ford,” he said when he made it to the operating theater. “Ford, Stan sent down coffee and toast. He said you had to eat it.”

The mystery man’s body was still laying on the exam table and the chalk board was covered in scribbles and nonsense words. Ford sat at a nearby desk with stacks of books surrounding him. Fiddleford carried the plate and mug over to the desk and set them down within Ford’s reach. He perused the book titles over Ford’s shoulder. 

Ford had the book he had been reading at last night’s dinner open in front of him. Up close Fiddleford could see that it was a book on codes and ciphers. The rest of the books were along a similar vein with a few engineering ones thrown in as well. 

“Thank you,” Ford said as he grabbed the mug of coffee and chugged as much of it as he could in one go. “Take a look at the board, I’m certain it’s a blueprint of some sort. But I believe we’re missing some of the directions.”

Fiddleford stepped over to the messy chalk board. The scribbles weren’t much better up close, but amid the nonsense words and random drawings there was definitely a blueprint of something, and whatever it was it was big. 

“It does look like parts are missing,” Fiddleford said as he glanced between Ford’s chalk drawing and the actual body. “Do you think the nonsense is the rest of the directions in code?”

“Maybe, or instructions on how to find the rest, or contact the person who left them.”

Fiddleford looked up from the drawings and peered at Ford. His stomach flipped nervously. He found the other man all too casual about the idea of another person killing and dismembering people. 

“Wo-would you want to contact them if you could?” Fiddleford asked. He hoped he sounded causal but he was sure his nervousness was evident in his voice. Not that he thought Ford would care either way.

“Yes, I would like to know the purpose of these diagrams and meet the person who did this. I think they would be quite interesting to talk with.”

Fiddleford worried at his lower lip for a couple of seconds while he thought. He didn’t have much experience with Ford interacting with people outside of Stan and himself. There was of course the other people Stan caught for Ford but Ford rarely treated them like more than experiments. For that matter Fiddleford wasn’t always sure he wasn’t being treated as some long-term experiment. 

“You’re not worried that they might be crazy or plan on doing the something too you?” Fiddleford asked. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them, he was certain he didn’t want to know the answer to the question.

Ford paused, his pen stilling. He glanced up from the book and the notes he was taking and really looked at Fiddleford for a moment. Then he let out a bark of laughter.

“Ha. Fidds are you worried about me?” Ford asked. His eyes glittered with something Fiddleford couldn’t identify but made him incredibly nervous.

Fiddleford’s stomach flipped at the question. Was he worried about Ford? Of course not, just because he had accepted his life with the twins didn’t mean he cared for the brothers. Well maybe Stan, but definitely not Ford. Ford was a monster. He was worried about Ford because of what it would mean for him and Stan, that was all. 

Before Fiddleford could say anything though Ford spoke again. “Don’t worry Fidds. I can take care of myself, plus Stan never lets anything happen.”

“Stan never lets… Have you interacted with other… p-people like you before?” Fiddleford asked. His mind was churning with the implications of Ford’s words. He was so stunned he barely even thought before blurting out his question.

“Of course, of course,” Ford said, sounding amused. He spoke like interacting with serial killers was a day to day occurrence. Fiddleford was feeling light headed at this point. “Stan doesn’t speak of it often but before moving to Gravity Falls we met a number of interesting characters through his work.”

Had Fiddleford not been ready to pass out he probably would have questioned Ford’s reference to Stan’s work. He didn’t understand how being a lumberjack would lead to meeting murders and other ‘interesting characters’ but that was pretty low on his list of concerns. Especially when that list was topped with living with a psychopath who killed people for fun and was looking to interact with someone else who killed people to send messages. 

“Oh,” Fiddleford squeaked out. The way Ford was looking at him with a toothy grin seemed to demand a response but Fiddleford couldn’t manage a more cohesive thought.

It must have been exactly what Ford was looking for though because he laughed heartily before standing and clapping Fiddleford on the back.

“Don’t worry, Fidds. Stan likes you and you’re surprisingly useful as an assistant. We wouldn’t let anyone else mess with our toy.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Fiddleford mumbled. Ford’s hand was heavy on his shoulder and his words were surprisingly reassuring.

“No problem. I need to go upstairs and see if I have any more books that might be of use. Would you check on our guest?”

Fiddleford took a deep breath and let Ford’s order give his mind focus. “Yes, Ford. I could also transfer the diagrams to actual paper.”

“That would be helpful. Thanks, Fidds,” Ford called over his shoulder before disappearing towards the elevator. 

Fiddleford just stared at the chalkboard for a couple of minutes, breathing deeply and trying to calm his thoughts. When he heard the elevator rumble upwards he let out a single sigh and headed towards the cages. 

The woman was lying with her back to the door when Fiddleford stepped up to her cage but the food he had left the night before had been eaten. He unlocked the cage and tried to slip in and out as quietly as possible. 

Despite his best efforts when he approached the cot to pick up the plate the woman groaned and rolled over. Her eyes fluttered open and when she caught sight of Fiddleford she began to sit up. She didn’t make it very far though. Fiddleford watched as her face contorted in pain and she collapsed back onto her back.

“So, he’s got you doing the dirty work again,” she asked. Her voice wavered and Fiddleford grimaced. He couldn’t imagine the pain she was in right now. 

Ford had described the process to him once early on in his transition from captive to assistant. Back when the twins were still concerned about him trying to run. Ford had promised that if Fiddleford tried anything like his first escape attempt again he would make it so Fiddleford could never run again by severing the tendon in his thigh, rendering the leg useless. Ford had also been sure to describe in detail what could happen if the procedure was done sloppily, how most people bled to death from the wound and that the best-case scenario for it would leave him lame and in chronic pain. It hadn’t been necessary with Fiddleford but this woman, Daisy, had been a handful even for the brothers. 

Fiddleford still wasn’t sure why Ford was keeping her around. The procedure wasn’t simple and would leave her weak for quite some time. Not to mention the risk of her losing to much blood or getting an infection was pretty high. There was really no reason to do it unless Ford intended to keep her for some time.

“It is kind of my job,” Fiddleford replied shortly. He snagged the plate and took it back out of the cage. He grabbed some leftovers from the fridge for Daisy’s breakfast. 

“But it really isn’t,” she shot back, “you’re as much a captive here as I am. I don’t see why you keep helping these guys.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Fiddleford said, his mind quickly supplying all the ways he was different in technicolor. Anytime he thought about trying to escape he thought back to “the guy” and all the subsequent victims of Stan and Ford that he had helped kill.

“No, you’re right,” she said, staring pointedly at the dark bruise on his neck. “you’re probably worse off than me.” 

Fiddleford flinched and brought a hand up to cover the bite on his neck. He was starting to feel something he rarely felt these days. As the woman poked and prodded at him Fiddleford felt anger start to boil in his stomach. He had used to have a temper and a penchant for revenge, back before he came to live with the twins, but he hadn’t let it rear its head for fear of what the brothers would do.

“Knock it off,” he snarled, “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. We’re all monsters here and you’ll see that soon enough.”

He slammed the cage door and let the perverse joy of seeing her flinch at his outburst settle over him before storming back to the operating theater. When he got back to the cadaver and the mysterious directions he pulled out the plotting paper and got to drawing. 

That’s how Stanford found him an hour or so later. Fiddleford was surrounded by blueprints and still drawing furiously.

“These aren’t from the body,” Ford said, studying the drawing closest to him. 

Fiddleford startled at his voice, he had been so focused he hadn’t even noticed Fords return. He shivered at that oversight. Sure, he was becoming more at home here, but it wouldn’t do to be come to relaxed around the brothers. He didn’t want to start making mistakes.

“Ah, yes those are something of m-my own design,” Fiddleford said, stumbling over his words. He rifled through the various pages and brought the best version of the body’s design to the top. “This is the best draft from the body, as you can see we only have about half of the directions.”

“And this?” Ford shook the other drawing again. Fiddleford swallowed nervously, maybe he had already made a mistake. 

“J-just something that came to me, while I was working,” Fiddleford said with a squeak. “I was thinking about those electroshock experiments you like to do and uhm I came up with a contraption that would be easier to use than just wires attached to car batteries.”

“Huh, this has potential. We’ll have to test it at some point. Right now, though I want this to be your focus,” Ford said, tapping at the blueprint from the cadaver. Fiddleford nodded his understanding, and carefully set aside his work. Ford carried the blueprint over to the body itself and consulted his own notes. 

“I happened to have a book in my study that I believe has allowed me to crack the cipher on these,” he said, his finger tracing over the previously unintelligible words surrounding the designs on the body. “I need to test something though.”

Ford spun around and grabbed Fiddleford by the scruff of his neck. Fiddleford didn’t have time to react as he was slammed down on the metal table. His ears rang and he was barely inches from the dead man’s leg but he didn’t dare move for fear of angering Ford. 

“Wh-what are you going do?” Fiddleford said as he lay limply on the metal table. He wanted to bring his hands up to steady himself but since he didn’t know what Ford was thinking even that might upset the other man. 

“There were directions in the ciphers, I think if I follow them we can find out who left us this body.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ford pickup his favorite scalpel. Fiddleford tried to remain calm while Ford twirled the blade between his fingers and contemplated Fiddleford’s back. 

The first cut was painless, like a finger drawing a line down his shoulder blade. But the pain came quickly as Ford continued to cut. Fiddleford had no idea what he was cutting but it was obviously intricate. He held as still as he could so that Ford’s work wouldn’t be disrupted. This meant that he was fighting the shivering and flinching of his own body, but he knew that it would be better to just get through this rather than to fight it. 

Fiddleford had no idea how long he lay there, his hands clinging to the cold metal of the table underneath him. Instead he focused on his breathing and let his mind drift to the designs he had been working on before Ford had returned. The pain still bled through but it was muffled, almost as if it was happening to someone else. 

Finally, Ford set the scalpel down and retrieved some medical supplies. The burn of disinfectant on his back sent pain screaming down Fiddleford’s nerves and brought him sharply back to reality. His deep breaths turned into quiet, whimpering gasps. 

“Are you done?” he mumbled against the table. 

“Hmm, for now,” Ford replied. He finished dressing the cuts with gauze taped to Fiddleford’s back and moved on to cleaning up his scalpel. “Leave it alone for now, and we’ll see if the ciphers were correct.”

Fiddleford stood carefully, he kept a watchful eye on Ford just in case the other man changed his mind. His left arm hung limply at his side, pain flared from the cuts anytime he jostled it too much. 

“Let’s go over the diagrams again,” Ford said when he saw Fiddleford was up. He had traded his scalpel for a journal and a pen. 

Fiddleford nodded and took a deep breath trying to push the pain down and focus on describing what he thought he knew about the engineering. It was an effective method. The technical challenge the designs called for was exhilarating, they were dealing with cutting edge technology here. Fiddleford was in his element, pushing the boundaries of what machines were capable of was what had drawn him to computing in the first place. Even with only half the instructions it was clear that this machine would be something else entirely, he was starting to suspect that it might be polydimensional. He wasn’t even sure something like that was feasible. 

While he spoke, Ford was an attentive audience, he might be a cold and often cruel boss but Ford appreciated talent and usually took Fiddleford very seriously. Which was why Fiddleford was surprised when Ford stopped listening and started writing. Without any other guidance though he kept talking, dividing his attention between what he was saying and watching Ford. 

Ford was observing him intently when he wasn’t writing but now that Fiddleford was paying attention it was obvious that it was the way Ford watched his experiments. He was all calculating gaze while recording every detail. Fiddleford could only wonder about what Ford had cut into him and hope that there wouldn’t be any supernatural consequences. 

They continued to discuss the machines potential until Stan got home and called them upstairs for dinner. Over cold sandwiches Stan grilled the other two men on their day.

“So, any clue who your mysterious suitor is or what they’re tryin’ to say, Stanford?” Stan asked. 

Ford looked ready to argue the semantics of Stan’s statement but the harried look on Ford’s face gave him pause. “I have some theories but nothing concrete,” Ford hedged.

Fiddleford stared at Ford as he continued to speak banally about the mystery. He didn’t understand, sure they still had a lot of questions but they did know somethings, or at least Ford had claimed they did before he started carving up Fiddleford’s back. Why was his back all cut up if they only had theories? 

“We gotta deal with this quick, Ford. I don’t want to have to pick up and run again.”

“Of course, Stanley. I’m doing everything I can. It won’t be like last time,” Ford promised. “You should hear about the contraption Fidds came up with today. I think it could have some real use in my research.”

Fiddleford’s mind reeled, he wasn’t certain but he was pretty sure Ford had just blatantly lied to Stan’s face and was now, badly, trying to change the subject. He was so caught up in the potential implications that he almost missed how he factored into the new conversation. 

“Oh yeah?” Stan said, his attention easily shifting. Fiddleford couldn’t tell if Stan had noticed what Ford was doing, he was either fooled or stressed enough to go along with it. “And it’s not a total death trap like your last invention?”

“A robot to butcher and bury bodies is a useful tool, considering Ford’s, ah, line of work,” Fiddleford said, defending his last personal project. His least favorite part of living with the brothers was digging graves and dealing with bodies. He had been certain a robot would make the process more efficient. 

“Yeah, but only if it doesn’t try to butcher you first,” Stan shot back. “To be fair though I hadn’t punched anythin’ till it stopped movin’ in ages, so it was fun.”

“Y-yes well, there is no chance of this achieving sentience,” Fiddleford said, his momentary self-righteousness wilting under Stan’s causal talk of violence. “It’s primarily a redesign of the car battery and wire set-up Ford uses to test pain tolerance. Just something a bit more elegant.”

Stan laugh as they easily fell into a conversation about the design, the materials it would need, and possible applications. Neither man noticed Ford’s withdrawal from the conversation until his chairs legs scraped on the floor. 

“I had best take some food down to our guest,” he said, while gathering up some of the leftovers and heading out of the kitchen. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“He probably wants to keep working on that body,” Stan said with a frown and a shrug.

Fiddleford watched Ford go and Stan’s reaction, carefully weighing their possible impacts on him. 

“Oh well, we should get this cleaned up,” Stan continued before Fiddleford could decide to say anything. 

Stan stood and collected the food and dishes Ford hadn’t taken. Fiddleford followed and helped but he was still favoring his left arm and couldn’t carry much at once. 

“Looks like Ford had a go at you,” Stan commented when he noticed Fiddleford’s slowness and the bandages. “What was it for?”

“Sorry, Stan,” Fiddleford said quickly. Disappointing either twin because he was injured was terrifying for Fiddleford. He didn’t want them to think he was losing his worth. But Stan just waved his nervous apology off. “Ford was f-frustrated with the body. It didn’t seem like he really had a plan, j-just needed to let off some steam.”

At first Stan only frowned and for a moment Fiddleford thought he might not be convinced, but then he simply nodded and headed to the sink. Relief rushed through Fiddleford and he was worried for a moment that he might collapse right there. He couldn’t believe he had just lied to Stan. Well it hadn’t been a lie per say, he tried to tell himself, he had just withheld some of the truth. 

Still it wasn’t something he would normally consider doing, but he was so confused about Ford’s actions and Fiddleford was pretty sure that between the two of them an unpredictable Ford was the more dangerous to piss off right now. He just had to hope he was making the right call.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning when Fiddleford went downstairs to take care of the chores, he was surprised to find both cages empty. His immediate reaction was fear that Daisy had escaped, but a cursory inspection found the operating theater only partially cleaned from a bloody experiment.

It was strange that Ford hadn’t said anything about a change in plans, especially after going to all the trouble of mutilating the woman so she couldn’t escape. Stan loved to be there when Ford killed someone and Fiddleford was usually on hand for a quick cleanup. It was odd, but at least she was no longer his concern. Though Fiddleford wished that Ford had let him clean things up last night instead of allowing the blood to dry. 

Fiddleford set about cleaning the lab as best he could, knowing that if he was going to get an explanation it would come eventually. He was still scrubbing at the stains when Ford showed up. No comment was made about what had happened, Ford just went back to pouring over the drawings and blueprints. He was so focused that Fiddleford couldn’t even get his attention a few hours later when the lab was as clean as it was going to get. Fiddleford tried hovering by his shoulders to get further instructions but it was a lost cause. 

Without anything concrete to work on downstairs Fiddleford figured it wouldn’t hurt to turn his attention to the main level of the house. Stan certainly wouldn’t be upset if he cleaned the place. He spent the day doing laundry, scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom, and generally straightening up. 

Fiddleford did take the opportunity to check the cuts on his back while he was in the bathroom upstairs. The bandages needed to be taken off and the wound checked for an infection anyway. Since Ford was so focused on his work, Fiddleford was sure he wouldn’t mind. 

Removing the bandage stung when it pulled on the scabs, but Fiddleford had gotten quite used to that kind of pain. Better to get it over with quickly than to dwell on it. It took a bit of craning for him to see the cut properly in the mirror. When he did get a good look at it he was perplexed. 

It wasn’t anything he recognized, a circle connected to a diamond with a double headed arrow crossing through it. There were squiggles and dots surrounding it along with another set of arrows and lines below it. It reminded him of the strange symbols he hadn’t been able to understand surrounding the blueprints. Maybe it was some of the code Ford had claimed to interpret?

Overall, it appeared to be healing fine. Most of Ford’s work usually did when he used a scalpel. Fiddleford rebandaged it and put it from his mind. Like everything around here if it was going to matter he would find out eventually. He just hoped that he found out before things went too far south. 

By the time the sun had started to set and he heard the gravel crunching as Stan’s car pulled up Fiddleford’s muscles ached but the house was satisfyingly clean. He was just waiting for the last load of laundry to come out of the dryer, his own freshly washed blanket draped over his shoulders, when Stan stomped through the front hall. 

“Stanford!” 

Fiddleford flinched at the loudness, he hunched into the blanket’s comforting warmth, hoping to hide from Stan’s anger. It didn’t work.

“Fidds” Stan said, when he noticed Fiddleford just standing in the laundry room. His fists were clenched and he was shaking, but he didn’t outright shout at Fiddleford. “There was another body, go out to the car and get it. I need to talk with Ford.”

Fiddleford nodded, even though Stan hadn’t waited around to see if Fiddleford was obeying him. He folded his blanket and set it on the dryer before scurrying outside. He grabbed the hand truck from where it still sat on the porch and dragged it to the car. Stan had left the trunk open and it was easy to see what had made him so mad. 

The body lying in the trunk was Daisy’s. Like the last body her’s was covered in markings. Most of them looked like those from the first body. But others had a distinctly familiar look to them, one Fiddleford recognized all too well. It was hard not to when he had actually seen similar ones being cut by scalpel on to his own body.

Getting the body out of the car and strapped to the hand truck gave Fiddleford time to inspect the new carvings. Some of them were obviously additions to the blueprints and others were the gibberish that Ford claimed was code. It would take time to add the markings to his earlier drawings but he didn’t need the full plans to know that these held a tantalizing promise. If he had thought the last set was cutting edge than these were revolutionary. He hauled the body into the house, wincing when the exertion from tugging the hand truck up the stairs pulled on his healing shoulder. 

The elevator let him off into the middle of a shouting match. Fiddleford tried his best to navigate the body towards the back of the lab without getting in the brothers’ way. 

“What the hell, Stanford? Why is the woman who was supposed to be in our basement, hanging from a tree covered in those markings?” Stan was seething, fists balled at his side as he pushed himself into Ford’s space. 

Fiddleford could only hope Stan didn’t decide that he had anything to do with this whole fiasco. 

By comparison, Stanford was much calmer. He was obviously trying to calm Stan down as well. His hands were up in a placating manner and he tried to touch Stan’s arm or shoulder when he could. But he still matched his brother’s intensity when he spoke. 

“Look Stan, Stanley, I know you’re upset. But I really don’t know what’s going on.”

“Bullshit.”

Fiddleford could see a wildness in Stan’s eyes and he was certain that the brothers had already had this conversation, or at least this portion, a couple of times before he had gotten downstairs. 

“You’re lying to me, Stanford. I’m not stupid, I can tell. I thought we had agreed that we were going to do this together. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t be around all the time, I’ve got to be able to trust you while I’m at work, which I’ve got to go to cause your grant isn’t going to last much longer.”

Fiddleford left the hand truck by the table containing the other body. He couldn’t help his own curiosity and made his way back to where the twins were arguing. He also wanted to know who or what was disrupting their lives. 

“I’m sorry, Stan, I really am. I don’t know as much as I would like, but I am sharing with you what I can. I need to do more research before I can say anything for sure,” Ford said. His attempts to reason with Stan seemed to be having an effect, or Stan had just worn himself down, the younger brother looked haggard and older than Fiddleford had ever seen before when he returned. 

Ford glanced at Fiddleford and he froze. There was something in Ford’s expression that told Fiddleford that Ford had made a decision. A big one, something that would change all of their lives. He wondered if this was how a deer felt when it was caught in headlights, knowing that something was hurtling towards it but unable to do anything to get out of the way. 

“Fidds and I have come up with a machine, that I believe we can patent,” Ford announced, throwing Fiddleford and Stan both for a loop. 

“You did, did you?” Stan asked. He still looked angry but Fiddleford could already see him calculating the possible implications. 

For his part Fiddleford was panicking. This was most certainly not how a deer felt after it was hit by a car, since he was still very much alive to experience the rest of the ordeal. He knew they didn’t have that kind of a plan. Or at least he wasn’t aware of it, though Ford had done a fine job making him an accomplice on this. Had Ford developed some whole new kind of tech today, while he was doing laundry? Or was this just more of Ford’s new penchant for lying?

“Yes, it still needs some refining but I believe we should be able to take it to conferences soon and petition for my grant to be extended.”

“Alright, yeah, that’s great Ford. You too, Fidds,” Stan said, not only looking more relaxed but even sporting an excited grin.

Fiddleford was still unsettled by the continued lying but he couldn’t deny how it was affecting Stan, maybe there was something to Ford’s method. 

“So, you guys work on your prototype and we’ll find this murderin’ creep and everything will be alright.”

“Exactly, Stan. Everything is going to be alright,” Ford said, petting Stan’s arm and slowly pulling him closer.

Fiddleford blushed as he watched the twins draw together. He always felt like a voyeur in these moments, not when the bothers were wild and sexual but when they were quiet and intimate.

Their kiss was fairly chaste but Fiddleford still looked at the ground, the sense he was intruding only growing. Ford seemed to think so too, because when Fiddleford briefly glanced back up Ford was staring at him and waved him away. Fiddleford didn’t need to be told twice, he knew when to make himself scarce. What to do with himself though was another question entirely. 

He went back to the operating theater. He moved Daisy’s body onto the other table and even pulled out some fresh drafting paper, thinking he might get started on copying the blueprints. Fiddleford was certain Ford would be pleased to have them on hand sooner rather than later. But as he was moving the body Fiddleford’s skin started to crawl. Even looking at her was forcing the memories of their conversation, from only yesterday, into the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t sure if he would ever understand how the twins divorced themselves from seeing their victims as people. Realistically he knew it was a good thing but sometimes, in what he considered to be his lowest moments, he wished that he could also turn those feelings off. He wasn’t going to be anymore use tonight and he didn’t want to hang around and just listen to Stan and Ford. Driven by his own traitorous thoughts and the unsubtle noises coming from where he had left the brothers, Fiddleford fled upstairs to finish his abandoned chores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for another late one gang. This project at work has gotten bigger than we expected and I've had to be out longer in the field on the weekends. On that same note I'm going to push the next update out a week, which will get me through this project and back to having free time. That will also let me put something up that's longer than this short guy and not so rough. Thanks for sticking with it and I'll have something again on 3/12.


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